


Rosewater

by bookfairy_writes



Series: Just One Yesterday [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, four-part series, part one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookfairy_writes/pseuds/bookfairy_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After trying to convince Cas to kick back and have a beer with him, Dean discovers that angels have a beverage with approximately the same side effects as alcohol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I thought of Angels

“Cas,” Dean said, taking a long, slow pull from his beer. “Do you want a drink?”

  
“I fail to see the point,” the angel replied. “I don’t require the nourishment.”

  
“Cas,” Dean replied patiently, “It’s a beer. Nourishment is not the point.”

  
“If it was for the alcohol, surely you would choose something with a higher ratio of alcohol to other liquids.”

  
“It’s...damn it Cas, it’s a social thing. You kick back with a couple of beers. The alcohol gives you a little bit of a buzz, just enough to be relaxed, and you talk or don’t talk or watch the game.”

  
“So you are inviting me to a...social encounter with you?”

  
It sounded weird said that way and coming out of his mouth in that confused and doubtful tone, which Dean told him.

  
“You’re overthinking this, Cas. This is two friends having a beer, shooting the breeze---which is an expression, calm down. We’re having a beer and catching up.”

  
“Are we behind?”

  
“Cas. Sit down. Take this beer. Drink it.”

  
The angel sat, had a beer shoved into his hand, and tipped it back into his mouth, emptying the bottle in two long gulps. Dean sighed, exasperated.

  
“Okay, I’ll start. How’ve you been Cas?”

  
Castiel had another beer shoved into his hand with the warning ‘don’t drink it so fast.’ Pausing to think, he blinked at Dean.

  
“All things considered, I have been well. I have sustained no serious injuries recently, heaven is reasonably stable, and you and Sam seem to be in good condition.”

  
“That’s...good,” the man replied. “Anything interesting happen recently?”

  
“Some minor changes to the way heaven is run, but it’s all fairly technical. I doubt you would find it interesting.”

  
“Try me.” Dean took a swig of his beer.

  
Castiel began to explain and by the end of it, Dean had gone through two beers and had what was threatening to be a headache from trying to wrap his mind around everything Cas was saying. When the angel finished, he looked at Dean, cocking his head to one side rather like a confused puppy.

  
“Was that sufficient?”

  
“Yeah Cas, it was great.”

  
The angel nodded and sipped at the beer he hadn’t touched since the beginning of his explanation. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Dean spoke again.

  
“You’ve been around a long time, right Cas?”

  
“That is an understatement.”

  
“And you’ve watched us--humanity I mean--all that time?”

  
“Not constantly, but yes.”

  
“What about angels?”

  
“What about them?”

  
“You know about humans, sort of. But we don’t know much about you.”

  
“I was unaware that you were interested.”

  
“Of course I’m interested, Cas. I’m not going to take notes or anything but you’re all just feathery superpowered guys in my head. How did you all get here? How come you don’t need to eat? Why take vessels anyway if your true forms are so much more powerful?”

  
“You have many questions.”

  
“Sure I do.”

  
Castiel paused to think.

  
“Though I have long observed humans, you know that my ‘people skills’ are lacking. Perhaps we can exchange information. I will answer your questions and you will answer mine.”

  
“Sure. Do you want another beer?”

  
“I am satisfied, thank you.”

  
“All right then, fire away. What do you want to know about humans?”


	2. Choking on Their Halos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay with the poisons thing...are you telling me that angels don’t have booze?”
> 
> “That would be correct. We do not ferment sugars and then imbibe them.”

“And why are you so fixated on putting poisons into your bodies?”

“Poisons?”

“Tobacco, alcohol, various complex chemicals which you inhale or inject or ingest. Your bodies attempt to filter the toxins out but you seem to take pleasure in putting more in than your body can reasonably remove.”

“It helps us forget, for some things. And for others it lets us lower our inhibitions.”

“Why is this necessary?”

“There’s a lot of...stuff.” Dean took a swig of his beer. “We have all these things that we have to do, just because. Like manners and how you can act in public and who is allowed to say certain things based on money and skin color and all that other shit.”

“These do not seem to apply to you and Sam.”

“Some of that shit we gotta ignore because we have a job to do. But neither of us would show up to a restaurant naked or cuss out an old lady or something.”

“Even if the old woman was inhabited by a demon?”

“Well then I’d be cussing out the demon, so that’s different.”

“All of your…stuff..” Cas made exaggerated air quotes, glancing at Dean to reassure himself that he had used the gesture correctly. “...is very complicated.”

“Well it’s how they tell us from the apes.” He finished the bottle, reached for another.

“Actually, in many ways, we find it quite difficult to distinguish you.”

Dean paused, his arm halfway to flinging his bottle cap at the trash can.

“What?”

“Humans and apes are strikingly similar in many ways. You have specific, complex social rituals, you live in homes which you create to your comfort level, you desire freedom rather than captivity…”

“Cas?”

“Yes Dean.”

“Do me a favor and don’t compare us to apes...at least while we’re listening.”

“You find this topic distasteful?”

“Sure, go with that.”

“Very well. I believe I have asked several more questions than you at this point.”

“Okay with the poisons thing...are you telling me that angels don’t have booze?”

“That would be correct. We do not ferment sugars and then imbibe them.”

“And I figured you guys didn’t have meth or crack or any of that but like...no wine? No beer? No vodka? What do you guys do to loosen up?”

“Angels are not typically known for ‘loosening up’.” He made the air quotes again. 

“What about fun? Do you guys have fun?”

“We do not generally have fun. We are soldiers, Dean.”

“Don’t you have a USO? Shore leave? 15% off on purchases from participating retailers?”

“There are the heavens of mortals which we occasionally browse. Some find it soothing.”

“Okay what about movies. Mini-golf for crying out loud. I know you don’t sit around playing harps.”

“You do realize that these human shapes are only vessels, do you not? Without this, my angelic form is approximately the size of your Chrysler Building. And we do not….golf, miniature or otherwise. I did hear a rumor about some of our members being involved in a baseball team, but that is likely just a rumor.”

“Also the plot of “Angels in the Outfield.”

“What?”

“Never mind. You’re telling me that angels don’t have fun, don’t play sports, party, or drink.”

“I believe what I said is that angels do not drink alcohol recreationally.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“There is a drink which we can imbibe recreationally, though it is not alcohol. It’s a nectar made from roses in some of the gardens of heaven.”

“Heaven has….gardens. And you drink flower juice from them.”

“That is not precisely correct, but essentially, yes.”

“So why drink this nectar then?”

“It has some pleasant effects. It only functions when an angel is wearing a vessel or otherwise in a corporeal form, but it is incredibly relaxing. Angels find humanity difficult to deal with and posing as human, wearing a vessel, is often grating for angels, especially if the vessel is not a good match to the angel. The rosewater functions as a mixture of sedative and an inducer of blissful feelings.”

“...so it’s alcohol.”

“No.”

“Cas, the thing you just described is alcohol.”

“Alcohol is an organic compound formed from the fermentation of sugars. Rosewater is not fermented sugar. It is nectar from roses in the gardens of various celestial realms.”

“Sounds an awful lot like angel booze to me, Cas.”

“While the effects are somewhat similar, rosewater is not alcohol.”

The pair of them paused for a long moment and Dean sipped at his beer again. He’d gone through three? Four...and a half. He had a comfortable buzz rolling through him and angel trivia on demand. Nothing was trying to kill him (currently) and he wasn’t dead (that he knew of). Things were all right.

Mulling all of this over, he looked at the angel quizzically.

“So is there like a heavenly brewing and bottling factory?”

“For rosewater?”

He was tempted to whip a sarcastic remark out but Dean was genuinely curious and for once held back his natural tendency to sass first and ask questions later.

“Yeah, Cas.”

“There are fledgelings tasked with collecting the nectar and storing it, yes.”

“And angels can just pop in and get some whenever they want?”

“No, not whenever they want. It is seen as medical supplies. It also can serve to boost healing and reparation of grace.”

“With all the shit you’ve been through, they never thought to give you any?”

Maybe the beer was contributing, but Dean felt a wave of anger rush to the surface.

“You save their asses and keep shit together and they don’t let you pop an angelic Advil now and then?”

“I don’t know Dean. I have never asked.”

When the hunter set his beer down this time it was careful. He placed the bottle on the table just so, not even allowing it to clink as wood met glass.

“You’re telling me that you’ve never gone up on high and asked for medical assistance?” His voice was low and dangerous and in spite of himself, Castiel shuddered a little. This was not Dean’s typical angry explosion of shouting and swearing. He was almost calm, or what might pass as calm if you weren’t looking too closely.

“I never felt…” the angel tried to select his words with care to avoid further upsetting the hunter. “...that my sustained injuries or discomforts were serious enough to require it.” He paused again, considering being less than honest, a lie of omission, but it was not in his nature.

“I also felt….unworthy of the help.”

Dean licked his lips and Castiel noted that his knuckles were white, gripping the edge of the table so hard that they were trembling faintly.

“Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Go upstairs to the heavenly brewery and get yourself the biggest damn bottle of that flower shit you can find.”

Had Dean’s gaze been even an iota less tense, less angry or upset or some other emotion Castiel couldn’t identify, he may have said no. He may have brought back some other bottle, water or tea or perhaps actual nectar from flowers of the earthly variety. The hunter’s eyes were flint, his mouth a sharp line across his stubbled jaw. And instead of arguing, he obeyed.

Once Cas had vanished, Dean picked up his beer and drained it, tossing the bottle hard against the wall to the point it shattered, before picking up the next beer. Once it too was empty, he dug through the liquor cabinet, snatched up a heavy glass tumbler, and filled it with whiskey--the good shit they saved for special occasions. Maybe by the time the angel returned, he would be able to resist the urge to throttle his feathery ass.


	3. Get Them Drunk on Rosewater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tossed back the rest of the whiskey and eyed Castiel’s glass. “You gonna drink that?”
> 
> “I am drinking it.”
> 
> “I’m already several beers in and you’re due to catch up. You can sip the next glass.”

Castiel reappeared holding a bottle about the size of a fifth of vodka. The liquid inside was translucent and faintly pinksh-yellow in the right light.

  
“I did not take the largest bottle, but this should be plenty.”

  
“They let you into heaven no problem?”

  
“Heaven has been closed many times and will be again; there are stores of rosewater on Earth in various locations around the globe in case of long-term lockouts. I simply took a bottle from one of those stores.”

  
“Why didn’t you get some from there before?”

  
“They are emergency stores, Dean. They aren’t meant to be used often.”

  
Dean’s mouth thinned into a line but instead of commenting he swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and slid a second empty tumbler across the table towards the angel.

  
“Drink,” he ordered.

  
Castiel sat down and poured a little rosewater into the glass. When Dean raised a vaguely threatening eyebrow, he added more until the hunter’s expression became more neutral. As Dean watched, he took a careful sip.

  
The effect was visible, at least to Dean. The hard lines in the angel’s face softened as he swallowed the first sip.

  
“How does it taste?” Dean asked curiously as Castiel took another sip.

  
The angel contemplated the question.

“Soft,” he replied thoughtfully.

  
“Huh.” Dean tossed back the rest of the whiskey and eyed Castiel’s glass. “You gonna drink that?”

  
“I am drinking it.”

  
“I’m already several beers in and you’re due to catch up. You can sip the next glass.”

  
Castiel looked down at his drink and carefully tipped the contents into his mouth, swallowing it in a few gulps.

  
“Great. Now pour another glass. It’s your turn to ask questions anyhow.”

  
Cas took a sip of the rosewater and nodded.

  
“I understand that sports is your kind’s way of doing battle without bloodshed, but I do not understand how certain sports are so popular, while others are not.”

  
“Like?”

  
“Fencing is swordplay. It is taken directly from combat and yet it is not popular among humans. Your various footballs, however, are wildly popular. Is it a preference for physicality over purity of form?”

  
Dean stared.

  
“You want to know why people like football better than fencing?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“I don’t know, Cas. It’s what people like. I can’t speak for all of humanity or anything. There’s just something satisfying about watching people play sports.”  
Cas took another sip of his rink and Dean let his eyes run over the angel, taking in how the tension in his shoulders had all but vanished, how his eyes were less hard.

  
“So how strong is that stuff?”

  
The angel looked at the bottle of rosewater, then his glass.

  
“It isn’t alcohol, Dean. The effects may be somewhat similar, but measurement of what each substance does is not comparable.”

  
“Cas.I’m buzzed right now. I shouldn’t drive, though I probably could in a pinch. My reflexes are slower than usual, my inhibitions are slightly lower so I’m chattier than usual. I’m more relaxed than I would be sober. How much of your holy flower juice will you need to replicate those feelings?”

  
Castiel frowned and looked at the bottle, then his glass, before tossing back his head and swallowing the rosewater in two gulps.

  
“That should be approximately the right amount.”

  
“Great. We’re on the same page. You wanna put the TV on or do you have more questions?”

  
“I am sure that I will think of another question, but if you wish, you can turn on the television.”

  
Dean rolled his eyes and topped off his whiskey glass before ambling over to the couch in front of the TV, which he switched on and began channel surfing.

  
“The amount of time humans spend watching television is astonishing,” Castiel remarked.

  
“I would ask what you all do for fun upstairs, but apparently you don’t do fun. It’s a leisure activity, which apparently angels don’t think much of.”

  
“It is not that we look down on leisure time...we just have no use for it. It is not the way we are made.”

  
“You watch TV when we put it on.”

  
“It is fascinating,” Cas agreed. “I would not seek it out and watch on my own, however.”

  
“Why not?”

  
“It is a leisure activity that you do. I do it to spend time with you and Sam rather than for my own interest.”

  
“You said you found it fascinating.”

  
“Fascinating but ultimately not useful.”

  
Dean took some whiskey into his mouth and rolled the amber liquid back and forth over his tongue before swallowing it.

  
“Does everything have to be useful with angels?”

  
Castiel considered it for a moment and mimicked Dean’s drinking motions, letting the rosewater cover his tongue, swirl through his mouth. It felt odd to do this with liquid instead of simply swallowing it, though it was not unpleasant.

  
“As a general rule, yes.”

  
“That’s….weird, man.”

  
“How so?”

  
“People...like...things.” Dean paused a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He was beginning to feel the whiskey, sliding from buzzed to tipsy, maybe even teetering in the edge of drunk.

  
“Angels also like things,” Castiel replied, looking confused.

  
“Shut up for a minute okay? I’m thinking. Drink your flower shit.”

  
Castiel shrugged and tossed back the glass, emptying it. Setting the empty glass onto the table, he licked his lips, swiping a drop from the corner of his mouth.

  
“I thought you were gonna sip it,” Dean said.

  
“You seem intent on my level of inebriation matching yours. If that is to occur, I need to drink more.”

  
“Okay.”

  
There was silence for a moment while Dean thought and Castiel refilled his glass.

  
“People like enjoying things.” Dean’s brow was somewhat furrowed. “You can work and eat and sleep all you want but people want to enjoy things, you know? That’s why we have all this other shit. Art and sports and TV and card games...whiskey,” he added, lifting his glass to punctuate his thought, “they’re all there because we don’t just want our lives to be get born, work, die. There’s a lot of awesome shit out there and we want to go see it and do it.”

  
“Angels do not have that need, I think. I have felt myself develop certain preferences while here in my vessel, but in heaven...it’s nothing like this. We have need of nothing. We want nothing other than to do what we were meant to do. We have purpose and fulfilling that purpose is all that we need for contentment.”

  
“Humans have purposes too, I guess. It’s just not the center of everything. There’s burgers to eat and music to listen to. There’s long drives in a good car on an open road with the windows down. There’s having a good time wrestling with your brother or sitting on the beach. There’s sex.”

  
“That is another thing I do not entirely understand,” Cas confessed. “Sexual intercourse was meant for reproduction and somehow it became recreational.”

  
“Cas, are you still a virgin?”

  
“I have not engaged in intercourse, no.”

  
“When you do, come back to me and tell me sex isn’t meant for recreation.”

  
“I don’t understand.”

  
“It feels good, man. Really good. Hell maybe that’s so we go around breeding like rabbits but since we humans invented birth control, it’s been a party ever since.”

  
“Birth control is only necessary with certain sexual acts, correct?”

  
“Cas, if I was any less drunk than I am now, we would not be having this conversation.”

  
“Why not?”

  
“Dudes don’t just sit around talking about sex...okay well they do but not like this. They swap stories.”

  
“I don’t have any encounters with which to construct a narrative.”

  
“I know. We covered that already.”

  
“Perhaps you should be the one swapping, then.”

  
“I’m not sure you’d get it.”

  
“Is there much to...get?” The angel made air quotes around the last word.

  
“Yeah. Your first time...it’s a big deal. After that, you get a lot more about the whole thing...hell Cas can we talk about something else?”

  
The angel paused and glanced at the television where a commercial for some allergy medication was playing, a woman lamenting her inability to sit outside with all the pollen in the air.

  
“I’m aware of how alcohol consumption affects my vessel, but rosewater is somewhat different. How am I to tell if I am the equivalent of drunk?”

  
“Stand up.”

  
Cas obeyed.

  
“Walk along one of the floorboards. Don’t step off that board.”

  
With ease, the angel completed the trick.

  
“Okay that’s a drunk thing. Um...how do you feel?”

  
Castiel pulled on the sleeve of his trenchcoat and wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

  
“Physically, I feel very well. The relaxation effects have definitely taken hold. Any discomfort my vessel may have caused me is gone and I am fairly certain I could heal you completely without much effort.”

  
“Okay what about mentally?”

  
“...pleasant,” the angel said. “It is unusual for me to feel so...light? My vessel seems less earth bound than usual.”

  
“I’d say you’re getting there, then.”

  
“Dean.”

  
“Yeah, Cas?”

  
“Are you very drunk?”

  
“Not yet, Cas.”

  
“Is the intention of this evening to get very drunk?”

  
“At this point I was going to just watch you and try to maintain this level of drunk. A little more and I’m going to have a rough time getting to bed. A little less and I won’t feel as good.”

  
“I believe I will endeavor to join you.”

  
The angel drained his glass again and when he got up to refill it, he wobbled slightly.


	4. See How Dirty I Can Get Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a lot you’re not aware of.”
> 
> “I agree.”
> 
> “All right, smart ass. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Human sexuality makes no sense,” Castiel announced.

“What?”

“Humans are so insistent on two genders and only being attracted to one. It’s weird, Dean.”

“What’s weird about that? You like men or you like women. Some people like both. There you go.”

“There are more than two genders in humans.”

“What? No there’s not.”

“Humans are very stubborn in insisting that, yes. I always assumed you limited it to two genders because more would confuse you. Now that I’ve been on Earth for some time, I have yet to find a compelling reason to give up this belief.”

“How many genders of angels are there?”

“Angels do not have gender.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re a dude.”

“My vessel is male, but my true form is not male, female, or any other gender. Nor are the genders of any other angels. We are genderless beings.”

“If you’re so genderless, how do you guys...you know.” 

Dean made a crude gesture, jabbing his finger into the circle of his opposite hand and Castiel blushed.

“It does not work as it does for humans. Angels don’t reproduce.”

“Okay but Cas...remember that one time with the pizza man?”

“You said we weren’t supposed to talk about that.”

“We aren’t. But you...y’know…” He gestured at his crotch. “You had a reaction if you know what I mean.”

“It was somewhat alarming, but not unpleasant.”

“Dude, I don’t want to know how you felt about getting a boner. The point is you got one.” Dean took another swallow of whiskey, his glass nearly empty. Shrugging, he tilted his head back and swallowed the rest. Castiel followed suit.

“Angels wearing vessels...it’s very complicated. And it’s more complicated with this vessel...it’s mine now. Jimmy Novak is in heaven. This vessel is no longer his...it belongs to me. I am becoming used to its physicality.”

“Cas...you’re drunk. You can’t go around saying shit like physicality. You gotta use drunk words.”

“I was not aware there was a language shift.”

“There’s a lot you’re not aware of.”

“I agree.”

“All right, smart ass. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Dean lifted one hand with three fingers showing.

“Three,” the angel replied.

“And what number am I thinking?”

“I cannot see into your mind without your permission, Dean.”

“Whatever.”

Leaning forward, Castiel placed two fingers on Dean’s forehead.

“Think of your number.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and Castiel looked startled.

“You are not only thinking of a number. You are thinking of the number 37 but also about if rosewater tastes good and what its effects on humans are. Additionally, you are thinking of--”

Dean pulled away.

“You got it. Thirty seven.”

“You were also thinking other things, Dean.”

“Okay, I want to try the angel booze. I’m curious.”

“I am unsure the effect it will have on humans, Dean. It may be unsafe.”

“Well if it is, you can just zap me back to normal, can’t you?”

“That is likely,” Castiel admitted. “Though the effects may not be pleasant.”

Dean held out his glass.

“Let’s find out.”

Castiel poured very little into the Dean’s glass, barely enough liquid to cover the bottom. Cautiously, Dean tipped the glass back and let the rosewater wet his lips before he licked them clean.

“That’s weird...it’s kind of tingly.”

“Interesting. That is similar to the sensation I experience. Do you feel all right? Does anything hurt?”

“Feels fine,” Dean said, and took a sip of the rosewater. “That is...weird.”

“You already said that.”

“I know what I said...it’s just the best word for it.” He swallowed the last drops of rosewater and frowned.

“It’s not whiskey but it’s all right I guess. It amps your grace up, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Think it gives me angel powers?” Dean’s grin was a little goofy, but contagious. Castiel smiled back.

“I find that unlikely.”

“Shaddup. Think of a number.”

Dean stuck two fingers to the angel’s forehead and closed his eyes.

“Is it three?”

“No.”

“Huh. Oh, hang on. Maybe it’s like that psychic shit. Hold still.”

Crawling forward, Dean placed a hand on either side of Castiel’s head and leaned in close so their foreheads were nearly touching.

“Okay, now think of a number.”

“You are very warm, Dean.”

“That’s not a number.”

They were both quiet for a moment and when Dean spoke again, his voice was a little lower.

“Is it...three?”

“No.” The angel’s voice was raspy and when he blinked, his eyelashes nearly brushed Dean’s cheeks.”

“How about five?” Dean licked his lips.

“No,” Castiel replied, his eyes flicking down to watch Dean’s tongue and then back up to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe...twelve?” 

“...no.”

Dean licked his lips again and Castiel found himself leaning in just fractionally, so the hunter’s breath tickled against his mouth.

“This doesn’t appear to be working,” the angel said slowly.

Dean swallowed hard and noted that his breath was somewhat unsteady.

_ Just the booze, _ he thought to himself, but his gaze was drawn to Cas’s mouth. _ Well...we all do stupid shit when we’re drunk, right? _ He thought, and leaned in as well, not enough so their mouths were touching but enough that Castiel’s breath hitched. 

“Don’t suppose that angel booze has any other weird side effects?” he whispered and the edge of his bottom lip brushed against Castiel’s upper one. A shot of heat ran through him and before he had the chance to think, he leaned in enough that their mouths were connected, his tongue tracing the angel’s bottom lip. He could feel Cas’s hands grip his shoulders and the rasp of stubble against his chin--Cas must not have shaved recently. He tasted like rosewater and something else that Dean couldn’t identify. He was thinking about how good Cas’s hands felt when he heard Sam shout from the other room.

“Dean? Cas? Anyone home?”

Jerking back, Dean half-leapt to the far end of the couch, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Nothing happened,” he told Castiel.

“Dean,” Cas began, but Dean’s expression was closed as he stood somewhat unsteadily and turned towards the sound of Sam’s voice.

“Nothing. Happened.”


	5. Pulling Out Their Fragile Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’s the hangover?” he asked brightly. “That angel booze really packs a punch, huh?”
> 
> “It’s not alcohol, Dean.”
> 
> “Yeah I woke up this morning and my mouth tasted like shit.”

For the amount of alcohol Dean consumed, the hangover was strangely mild. As he rolled out of bed to brush whiskey morning break from his teeth, he was hit with a memory--Cas’s face, close to his. Dean’s tongue tracing the angel’s bottom lip. The way that the angel’s hands moved to his shoulders. Sam calling to find them.

_ Shit. _

He stepped into the shower and scrubbed himself off, lingering a little longer under the hot spray. As much as it was going to be uncomfortable as hell, he needed to talk to Cas. Remind him that alcohol made people do weird shit. That they didn’t need to talk about it. Yeah, this was the sort of conversation he wanted to do less than sober. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. 

Breakfast first. Coffee. Dishes. Hell, he needed to do some laundry. Make a grocery run. Wash Baby.

He was hosing the last of the suds off of the Impala and pulling out the wax to give her a good shine when he heard a low sound, someone clearing their throat. Swallowing hard, he turned to see Cas standing maybe six feet away looking a little tired but otherwise normal.

“How’s the hangover?” he asked brightly. “That angel booze really packs a punch, huh?”

“It’s not alcohol, Dean.”

“Yeah I woke up this morning and my mouth tasted like shit.”

Dean began rubbing wax onto the hood of the Impala, talking all the while.

“That morning breath after a night of drinking...that is something else. I thought something died in there.”

“As alcohol is a sterilizer, it is likely that a number of bacteria and microorganisms did perish in your mouth.”

“Thanks Cas. That’s exactly the sort of thing I like to think about.”

“You are the one who remarked upon the dead things in your mouth.”

“It’s just...it’s an expression, Cas.” Dean carded his free hand through his hair before pulling the rag from his back pocket and buffing the part of the hood he had just waxed. 

“I wanted to make an inquiry about last night.”

Dean didn’t turn and though he made an effort not to tense, he felt the muscles in his back clench.

“Sure thing, buddy. Fire away.”

Castiel was closer now, in his personal space.

“You said that nothing happened.”

Dean looked around to see if Sam was in earshot before looking back at Cas briefly.

“Look...man. When you’re drunk sometimes you do things you wouldn’t do sober.”

“You...kissed me, Dean. This is not nothing.”

“Look. I was drunk. You were...something. I want to pretend like it never happened because it essentially didn’t. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to mention it again. Okay?”

At some point through his response, Dean’s voice grew louder and by the end he was practically shouting. Had Cas been human, he may have flinched. But he was not and he did not. Instead, he cocked his head to one side.

“Alcohol negates romantic overtures?”

“Damnit Cas, it wasn’t a romantic overture. I was drunk, you were there. I don’t do guys, remember? And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But--”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Cas.”

He buffed the hood of his car more forcefully and the next time he turned around, Cas was gone. He turned back to the hood of the Impala and continued waxing it until it was shiny enough that he could faintly see his reflection looking back at him. Even his reflection looked disappointed in him, the traitor. 

 

Dean didn’t know what he expected from Cas, but this wasn’t it. He wasn’t human, he wasn’t supposed to know how to make sulk. Angels didn’t sulk, right? Still, Cas stayed in his room for a good amount of time over the next week and when they picked up a case--vampire nest in Idaho--Cas was silent the entire drive. Not that Cas was usually chatty, but the mood spread throughout the car, giving all three of them a glum, tired feeling. The vamp nest was a bit of a challenge, but nothing they couldn’t handle. A couple of scrapes and beheadings later it was back to a motel for the night.

“I need a beer. Sammy? Cas?”

“I’m just gonna pass out,” Sam replied, while Castiel merely looked curiously at Dean.

“I do not believe I would be of assistance in this matter.”

“It’s just...okay Cas. Don’t wait up.”

Once the door closed, Castiel looked at Sam.

“Why did he ask us not to wait? I do not sleep and will be awake regardless of his return time.”

“He’s probably going to go get laid. It’s just a thing he does after hunts sometimes. He’s probably not coming back until late and probably doesn’t want me to wait up. He knows that you don’t sleep.”

“Oh.”

“You can put the TV on if you want. I’m going to pass out.”

“I do not require the entertainment, but thank you.” Castiel stood between the beds, staring into space.

“Um, Cas?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Maybe you could go sit down or something? It’s kind of weird, having you stand there while I’m trying to sleep.”

“Of course.”

Cas sat in the armchair on the far side of the room. Sam turned out the lights and his buzzing snores soon filled the room. The angel didn’t mind. He’d observed humanity for millennia, a few hours wasn’t going to be much in comparison. 

Dean shuffled into the motel room sometime after two in the morning, kicked his shoes off, and fell into the queen bed on his side of the room.

“Hello Dean.”

Cas had a gun in his face within seconds and he blinked, waiting for Dean to recognize him and put it down.

“Damnit Cas, don’t do that. Warn a guy.”

“You didn’t turn on any lights. I was unsure of how to alert you to my presence.”

“Make some noise or something.”

“I did. I said hello.”

“Other noise. Move around in your chair. Rustle the fabric of that trench coat of yours. Leave a light on, something. This is how you get shot.”

“I am capable of healing myself, Dean. A gunshot would not kill me.”

“I know just…” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s too late for this right now. I’m going to sleep. Just...stay there, okay? If I wake up and there’s someone in the middle of the room, I’m going to pull my gun our first.”

“I assure you, I will not be moving.”

“Great. Just...great.” Dean was asleep within moments and Cas wondered if the encounter with the woman he slept with also never happened. Did this apply to all alcohol-related instances or just ones involving him?

It was a thought he had all night to ponder.

And he did. 


	6. And Clip Their Tiny Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had nothing to apologize for. He was allowed to fuck who he liked. He was allowed to make mistakes. He was a hunter, here to kick ass, take names, and save people, not to wade through other people’s feelings and walk on eggshells to avoid upsetting someone.

As a general rule, Dean Winchester avoided feeling guilty about anything. Guilt was a slow killer, a poison that sapped energy from him and made him do things he’d rather not. He had enough of it hanging around in the wings, waiting to be acknowledged--family, his stint in hell, all the ways he screwed up Sammy, things he had done, people he’d hurt-- without adding new things to the list. A drunken kiss, barely a kiss really, he didn’t even use that much tongue, was not on his list of things to feel guilty about.Or it wasn’t supposed to be, anyhow. 

Cas was himself again; he’d taken a couple of weeks of sulking and then become his usual...Cas. If occasionally he held Dean’s gaze a moment too long before he looked away or seemed to avoid being near Dean when he was drinking, that was the angel’s business, not his. And damn it he shouldn’t have felt guilt over something he’d done while drunk. You do stupid shit when you’re drunk. That’s just how life worked. He wasn’t feeling guilty about picking fights in bars or swindling someone out of a few hundred bucks at cards or pool. He felt pretty damn good about some of the things he and Lola had done the night after the vampire hunt and he’d been a little buzzed then. Him buzzed and her stone cold sober--she was the bartender after all--and he’d still rocked her world up against a pool table and then again on a bar stool. Or at least he’d felt pretty damn good about it until he returned to the motel room and found Cas sitting in the dark in an armchair. 

He had nothing to apologize for. He was allowed to fuck who he liked. He was allowed to make mistakes. He was a hunter, here to kick ass, take names, and save people, not to wade through other people’s feelings and walk on eggshells to avoid upsetting someone. And Cas was an angel, for chrissakes. He wasn’t some fragile little flower ready to wilt at a moment’s notice. He could fly or teleport or whatever. He could kill a demon by laying his hand on it. His eyes glowed blue sometimes and he was full of power that Dean felt pretty good about having at his back. He should be fine with one drunken mishap. 

It was getting to the point, actually, that he thought about bringing it up with Cas. Not in like, a chick flick way. Like in a ‘stop sulking like a baby’ way. Sort of a ‘man up’ talk. Except whenever he thought about broaching the subject with Cas, the image of the angel’s face when Dean snapped ‘nothing happened’ was burned into his mind like some kind of mental tattoo. Big blue eyes, shocked and hurt, his lips still faintly puckered, unsure what he had done wrong, it was that expression that he couldn’t push from his mind no matter how hard he tried. The second time, in the garage, had been worse. Cas had been vulnerable, leaving himself open to hurt and Dean had taken the invitation. He’d seen Cas hurt before, the guy got knocked around sometimes but he healed up fine. This was a different kind of hurt and Dean didn’t like thinking about it. 

Eventually, the guilt changed from the sort that lurked around and flared up whenever he saw Cas to a constant sensation, a steady burning that never quite left. Every time he thought he had some peace, there it was, reminding him that he’d taken a perfectly good relationship and then fucked it up. Even if Cas wasn’t sulking anymore, now the weight had settled on him. The occasional pep talks he gave the mirror weren’t helping any. He was having trouble looking himself in the eye, damnit. And he hadn’t done anything, not really.

Lying in bed staring at the ceiling, Dean sat up and sighed angrily, rubbing his eyes before glancing at the digital clock on his bedside table. Two-thirty in the morning. The bunker was quiet, Sam had gone to bed hours ago, and he couldn’t sleep. It was entirely possible that Cas was wandering around somewhere and if he wasn’t...well calling him didn’t seem out of the question. If they had to talk this out like Doctor Phil or some shit, he’d have to sack up and do it. He couldn’t even enjoy a burger anymore without feeling mildly guilty about it and food was supposed to be sacred. 

In flannel drawstring pajama bottoms and a white undershirt, he opened his door and tiptoed into the hall. It didn’t occur to him until he was halfway down the hall that there was no reason to tiptoe. The bunker was one of the few places that he and Sam could sleep without being constantly on edge. Feeling foolish, he sank from the balls of his feet and walked through the bunker, trying to work out what he was going to say to Cas. Every time he tried to construct a statement, it came out wrong. 

There was no one in the kitchen, or the main room, but he could see the warm yellow light of Sam’s favorite reading lamp bleeding into the hall from the open door of what functioned as a library and reading room, though it wasn’t really either. Sitting in one of the few armchairs the bunker had, was Cas. In his lap there was a book and he studied it with his characteristic intense gaze as Dean hovered in the doorway.

“Is there something wrong?”

Castiel spoke without looking up from his book and Dean avoided jumping, though he did flinch noticably.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean replied gruffly.

The angel made a noncommital noise and turned the page. Dean padded over and looked over his shoulder at a photograph of a painting of a man and some animals. Underneath it read ‘The Creation of Adam in the Garden of Eden’. 

“Reminiscing?” 

“It was not like this at all,” Cas said disapprovingly. 

“Well humans, we have a flair for the dramatic.”

_ What the hell? _ Dean thought to himself.  _ I came here to work out whatever is up and we’re making small talk? _

“Yes I have noticed that. Would you like me to make you unconscious?” It was an offer, dry and polite in typical Cas fashion.

“No thanks. I’m just going to sit for awhile I think. See if I get tired.”

Cas didn’t answer and Dean wandered over to the bookshelf, examining the titles. There had to be something he could pretend to read while he figured out what to say. Finally, he pulled something off the shelf and sat down, flipping to the first page.

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“Creation.”

Castiel thought for a moment, looking up from his book.

“Slower...but more breathtaking. The Garden was when you became humans, not apes or something like them, real humans. I watched you grow up from that; I remember the first creature dragging itself from the sea and onto the mud. It took millions of years from then to the Garden but watching you grow over time and praising our Father for creating you...there are not words for it in human tongues.”

“Oh.” He looked at the book in his lap, turned a page. When he glanced up, Castiel was still staring intently at his own book. Dean licked his lips, trying to prepare the words so they would come out right.

“Cas.”

“Dean,” the angel replied.

“Look I didn’t mean to blow you off the other day.”

“To which day are you referring?”

“The one where I was waxing the car, the day after the Rosewater thing. I was kind of a dick, I just don’t talk about that sort of thing, you know?”

“There is much which you don’t talk about, Dean. It is difficult to determine what is and is not permitted.”

“Whoa, Cas. Nothing’s not permitted, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Cas cocked his head to one side, puzzled.

“Look, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings is all.”

“You made it very clear that you did not wish to speak of this, Dean. Why are you speaking of it now?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay is all. Okay?”

“I am uninjured,” Cas replied.

“Right, I know that but I’m just...never mind. I’m just making sure we’re good.”

“I believe that we are...good.”

“All right, great.”

Standing, Dean gave Cas a friendly slap on the shoulder and walked out of the room, back through the halls and to his room where he could close the door and try for sleep. He realized halfway there that he was still holding the book he had pulled from the shelf in one hand. It had a dry-sounding title with the word ‘theory’ in it as well as a few glyphs on the spine. Once in his room, Dean set it on the bedside table and shed his shirt, dropping onto his bed. Turning out the lamp, he took a deep breath and let it out. The guilt wasn’t gone exactly, but it was dulled. Shoving it down, Dean rolled over and went to sleep.

Still examining the book in his lap, Castiel traced the outline of yet another artist’s depiction of Adam. He had never spoken to the first man, only observed. He had observed humans for thousands of years, existed for millennia before that. How was it that with all the humans that had ever been, this was the first one with the power to wound him in ways he didn’t understand?

  
  


**_Anything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my name and it will be held against you. Anything you say can and will be held against you so only say my name..._ **

  
  



End file.
